


laugh when it sinks in

by ev0lution



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Jyn Erso Appreciation Week, lets celebrate my daughter with a kinda angsty but ultimately hopeful story, my take on "prodigal" prompt heavily influenced by my weird catholic upbringing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24310876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ev0lution/pseuds/ev0lution
Summary: Jyn finally gets to speak to her mother. The circumstances aren't ideal.A quick little thing written for Jyn Appreciation Week’s prompt "prodigal".
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	laugh when it sinks in

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to “Save Me” by Saint Motel while writing.

_don't cry baby / you'll be the one that saves me_

* * *

Jyn exhaled slowly as her eyes opened, body weighted. She moved so smoothly to consciousness that it was like slipping into water. But Jyn couldn’t remember falling asleep.

The sapphire skies above her were clear of clouds and pollution; the blue was endless, like a sea mirrored into the sky. The ground was soft beneath her.

 _Where am I?_ It wasn’t panicked. It wasn’t strung with the usual fear. It was calm. Curious. A question whose answer she didn’t fear.

Jyn sunk into the earth a little more with each breath, her eyes staring high into the sky. There were birds, flying slowly and gracefully above her. The sun was somewhere behind her, and there was a day moon, a white eye watching down on her. Watching over her.

She didn’t know how long she laid there, content to stare into the sky forever. It was quiet. The only things she heard were waves, rolling carefully up shore. Did time even exist here? It only occurred to her after she thought about it, when she realized the sun hadn’t changed position. Maybe _here_ , wherever it was, was beyond time. Jyn didn’t dwell. It was warm and peaceful and Jyn felt safe. Wherever here was, she didn’t want to leave.

The sound of her name, so distant that it must have been a lightyear away, had her shifting. She turned her cheek, looking towards the noise. She was distracted as she realized for the first time that she was laying in sand. She sat up, digging her hands deeply into the ground. The sand was a mix of the coarse black of Lah’mu and the soft white of Scarif, and the warm brown of Jedha. Each was familiar in their own way, stirring up memories of fear and pain, love and acceptance. Her hands twisted, clutching at fistfuls that escaped from the sides of her palms. A sight that would’ve sent her into a spiral of panic before (before _what_ she couldn’t answer) simply touched her with wonder.

She dragged her knees up, bending them and planting her feet in the sand. It was then that she realized that her feet were bare, particles gliding between her toes. Gone were her combat boots, and her fatigues. It was something that struck her with her first pinch of panic, but it was more an echo of panic, a fleeting, forgotten feeling that faded as soon as it had arrived. Jyn clung to it for a moment – why wasn’t she panicked? Why would she be?

For a moment, she remembered starting awake in a dark bunker, of a rasping voice screaming at her to _move_ , and this was an _ambush_ –

That was why she always wore shoes. Just in case of that, but – danger, in this place, seemed as unlikely as anything. The memory, terrifying for a moment, left her peacefully. Somehow, she felt looser for letting it go. Like she was free from it, somehow.

Instead of donning heavy boots, her feet were bare, and she wore a loose robe with soft leggings. She studied her clothes, then the skin peeking out of them. Her hands were clean and smooth, her legs unmarred by bumps and ridges, no skin discoloured or tarnished. Her scars were gone; all the hills and valleys she’d earned and burned into her skin were gone. It made sense, somehow. Even old wounds were healed, here.

 _Jyn_ …

The voice again, still far. She knew its owner not in words, but sensations: a leaping feeling in her stomach, familiar by now, like stoking an old hearth. Spiky stubble under her fingertips. The voice of her tether, drawing her weightless body back.

She drew her eyes in the direction of the noise, to the west, and found a cerulean sea. Waves laughed quietly up the shore. She stared for a moment, entranced, before turning to the east. The sand got darker in that direction, leading to a distant, familiar structure, squat and clean white. Like it had never even been touched by the fire that destroyed it.

Jyn’s attention was captured by the Lah’mu-Jedha-Scarif hybrid; by the endless fields and the crystal water; by the islands that lay a stone’s throw away, some covered in jungle, others clear of vegetation and full instead of sandstone castles and fallen idols; by the cozy home. By the figure slowly approaching her from it. Jyn pushed herself to her feet. There was no pain in the knee she twisted on Scarif, even though the pain had followed her the eight months since. There was no click in her ankle, as there had been for three years.

She watched the figure approach, not in fear. She seemed unable to feel anything but calmness or gentle curiosity. Her jaw dropped open slightly when she could make out the face, but her mouth closed soon again. She was standing on a planet that seemed to be a blend of the worst of her ghosts – the places where she and death had been close enough to kiss. But the strangest part of it was that it didn’t scare her; that now, faced with death, she was not afraid. Few surprises could rock her after such a quiet acceptance of that.

Lyra Erso had always been beautiful in Jyn’s eyes but, as she approached, Jyn realized her beauty had been magnified tenfold. Gone were the lines around her eyes and mouth; her previously limp hair was shiny and clean. Her robes, like Jyn’s, were spotless and loose. She looked the same age she had been when Jyn last saw her, dead in the black sand, but also like she was ten years younger.

“Jyn,” she said. It was not the same voice as before. That realization had Jyn glancing back over the sea before back at her mother. Her dead mother. “My brave Stardust. You have come so far.”

Jyn blinked. It was like her voice had made her real. This Lyra could melt into any wall or any door, disappearing though she was still visible. But when she spoke – it turned her phantom-like nature into something corporeal.

“Mama?”

She was a child again, learning to walk, her knees suddenly weak. The sand slid beneath her as she rushed forward, diving into her mother and driving her head into the place where the blaster shot had hit her, as if to shield her from the missing wound. Lyra didn’t flinch or yell. She seemed to be better than healed; like she had never been shot in the first place.

“My Star,” Lyra said quietly into her hair, pulling her tightly into her arms. “My valiant daughter.”

Lyra pulled back, setting a hand on her cheek. Her eyes sped over Jyn’s face, as if she was memorizing it. “You’ve been so strong, Jyn. The strongest.”

Jyn had inherited her mother’s eyes. She stared into them now. She should’ve felt disbelief, or maybe fear. Instead, it was like it all made perfect sense. That this was what she had been waiting for, when she was staring into the sky.

If she concentrated really hard, she could almost remember – a bullet, a battle – but no part of her wanted to concentrate hard. The care for the memory was like smoke in her hands.

“Am I dead?” The words slipped like water from her mouth. Lyra shook her head. “Am I alive?”

“You are here,” Lyra answered. But where was here? Curiosity, more powerful now, pulled at her. But still, the feeling was brushed away, and replaced with acceptance. Yes. She was here. That was right, both correct and good.

“We should take a walk,” Lyra said, carefully looping Jyn’s hand into her elbow. Jyn nodded.

They stepped through the sand, their feet sinking and sliding. Jyn stared down at it. Sand had been at the worst tragedies of her life. Lyra, buried in black sand, Saw in brown. Herself very nearly in white, with –

_Jyn!_

The voice calling her name again. Jyn started to pull away from her mother. There was pain in his voice. She wondered where he was, how could he feel pain in a place like this?

What had happened? Where was she?

But as soon as she thought the questions, they slipped away again. They didn’t feel important. The first question felt like it would only lead to pain, and she no longer had a use for pain. Pain was in the past. She was beyond it. She was here.

Jyn stared out into the sea, its colour and sheen unmistakeable. “This is Scarif?”

“The only Scarif that remains,” Lyra told her. Jyn looked to the islands, where Imperial towers should’ve stood. Where was the citadel? Where was the vault, where she’d climbed, just as he’d told her? There was only forest and sand, hardened into structures that should no longer exist, just like Scarif. She didn’t need to ask about those structures; she knew those were Jedhan.

“Only the goodness has endured,” Lyra told her, “Only the balance.”

Jyn stared onto the islands, and spotted a cave mouth that looked exactly like Saw’s hideout. The only difference was that she could see inside, to a black hole that didn’t belong. A black hole from a different planet that had haunted her. The black hole she’d used to hide all her love and pain, just as she’d been hidden years ago.

Her first shot of fear, real and sharp, but it was quick and fleeting. Blinking out an eyelash.

“Alderaan is here too,” Lyra said, but she was also looking at the cave.

Jyn heard her name again, and she sensed anguish in it. But it was still so quiet, muffled by the regular rock of the waves.

“I should have never left you,” Lyra said with conviction. “I’m so sorry.”

Jyn tore her eyes from the cave. She looked her mother in the face, and found only repentance. “Why did you leave me?” It wasn’t accusatory, or angry. She now understood that it was useless to remain angry. A waste of energy spent better elsewhere.

Lyra kept her eyes on the cave. “I wanted to fight. I thought I could stop our family from being torn apart. I just made it worse.”

“Orson Krennic did that,” Jyn said. Saying his name like that was something she hadn’t dared to do, not even after his death on Scarif, not even months after. He had always been the man in white, the monster under the bed. But now he was just a man, just a soldier with a corrupt cause, just skin and bones. Just dust. He was not a piece of this beautiful, untouched planet; he was not welcome here. “Krennic’s gone,” she said, “It’s over.”

“He’s over,” Lyra said, “But _it_ isn’t. Not if you don’t want it to be.” Jyn looked to her mother once again, and Lyra said, “I’ve been watching, darling. I’ve always been watching. You’ve been so valiant, so brave. You carried him off this beach.”

 _Jyn_ …

Her name, again, but this time it came with a murmur. Jyn was distracted. She released her mother’s arm and stepped closer to shore, catching only a fragment as it floated towards her. It was a new voice, but still familiar.

_…gone…_

No, not gone. She wanted to find those voices and reassure them. Here. She was just here.

She wanted to comfort them, to speak. Jyn looked to the cave. But she didn’t want to be near the cave. There were so many other beautiful places on the planet; she could walk and explore any one of them. The cave seemed to be the only blemish, the only black spot. Yet still, Jyn stared.

_Jyn…_

Louder, like a stage whisper. She could almost see her name as it travelled, rolling with the waves towards her.

“We carried each other,” she said. “I saved him, but he saved me first. Him and I, but also all of us. We all carried each other.” Unconsciously, her toes curled into the sand. “They all saved me. Every one of them.”

“Rogue One,” Lyra said, like an earthquake. Like a downpour. Like the sand beneath her, enveloping her toes.

“Rogue One,” Jyn echoed.

Her name again, _Jyn_. It seemed farther than it had been, but she could hear the pain more clearly, the desperation. It was followed by a _please_ , distorted like a scream through water. Jyn wanted to comfort the voice. _It’s okay_ she thought _I’m safe, it’s okay_.

She took another unconscious step towards the water, staring at the cave. “I’m tired, Mama. I’m so tired.”

“Darling,” Lyra said, moving beside her so that Jyn’s shoulder came in line with her sternum. “You can rest. You deserve peace.” Jyn turned her head to Lyra and saw the squat little home over her shoulder. Jyn could see two more figures had emerged from it, one burly and strong, the other thin and neat. Lyra said, “Come home.”

It was a stone on the serene lake in Jyn’s chest. _Home_. The effect ripped out to her toes, her stomach, her tongue. Lyra was right. She needed to go home.

“I can’t stay, Mama,” Jyn said finally. She heard the tears in her own voice, but only felt calm. “I have to go back.” She took a breath to steady herself, but found herself already strong. “I’m not done. Not yet.”

When Jyn looked, she discovered Lyra was smiling. She pushed Jyn’s hair back, looking her in the eyes. “Go fight. Go learn. Go live. Fall in love. We’ll be waiting, Stardust.”

Jyn looked back to her fathers. The thin one raised his hand. Jyn steeled herself. Lyra’s hand fell to her daughter’s heart. Jyn could feel the organ thud-thumping against her mother’s palm, beating with a vigour that had replaced her peace. That pound was somehow the scariest and most wonderful thing Jyn had ever felt.

“You’re one with the force. The force is with you.”

Jyn nodded, taking in her mother’s face. Then she began to walk. She would not lose her nerve. Her feet sunk as the sand shifted, but she recovered, and moved with grace. It was just sand.

She stepped into the water. Her name flew towards her, as broken as she’d ever heard it. It had done another magic trick; instead of being a scream, quiet in its distance, it had become a whisper, thundering through her body.

Jyn strode through the water, which never lapped above her ankles. Then she was on the other shore, approaching the cave. She thought of the pit she’d created in her mind to protect herself. At the cave mouth, she turned back. Saw and Galen had joined Lyra on the beach. She could see tears on their faces, Galen and Lyra’s hands wrapping around one another. Saw tucked his chin to her. Jyn turned and walked into the cave.

In her memory, the pit was only ever seen from the inside, dark and oppressive. Now she stood outside it, and saw how innocuous the rock was. The sand was just sand; the pit was just a pit. Jyn looked at the hatch and imagined her own, young eyes peering out of the slit, wide and terrified. She pitied that child, wished she could protect her. Knew that the very things she wanted to protect her from were what made her.

Jyn braced a hand on the hatch, braced herself for what she was returning, willingly, to face, for the terror and wonder and pain and love – and Jyn _pulled_.

///

Jyn gasped as she woke, so hard she nearly choked, and her stomach suddenly _burned_ , the pain taking its revenge for her reprieve, measuring all the time she’d lost and stuffing it through her in seconds. She sobbed, fingers tearing towards her abdomen.

Hands caught hers. “Jyn,” a sob to match her own. It was the voice, the one that had called to her, the one she _knew_ – He leaned down, pressed his forehead against hers. “ _Jyn_ , you’re okay, you’re going to be okay.”

She was crying, tears slipping from her eyes. She was on her back, so they slid straight out of the corners. So the drops falling on her cheeks weren’t hers.

“The force smiles on us today,” a high, wise voice announced loudly. He sounded choked.

“Not the force, you old fool,” deep, gruff. “She’s strong. The strongest.”

“You’ve done so well, Jyn,” his forehead pressed a little harder into Jyn’s head, almost painfully. She was glad for it. Peace never fit her well. “So well. Just hold on.”

“More bacta.” This one was nervous, quick, slurring his words. Then something cool on her side, stinging, but at least it wasn’t burning. A whimper escaped her lips anyways.

“The odds of surviving such a blaster wound are forty-two percent,” his mechanical voice, blaring and stilted. “But Jyn Erso’s average odds of beating the odds is sixty-eight percent.”

Jyn’s hand reached up shakily and set it on his cheek, the one that belonged to that voice, pressing her hand into the stubble.

“Cassian,” she gasped weakly.

“I’ve got you,” he said, “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.” Her free hand scrambled, and Cassian shook his head, taking her again. “Don’t touch it, okay? Don’t look. Just focus on me, okay? We have bacta. We’re almost to base. Just hold on. Please hold on.”

///

The bandages crossed Jyn’s abdomen a little too tightly, circling her ribs and curling around her shoulder for leverage. Cassian had helped her into her new, loose shirt. Then he sat in the hard plastic chair beside her bed, and hadn’t moved since.

Jyn didn’t know what to make of the dream that wasn’t a dream. She had been _here_ , as she’d been told. Now she was here, the real here, on Hoth, getting medical treatment. It was her first time in the Hoth medbay. It was warmer than she’d expected.

She’d taken three blaster wounds to her stomach and one to the shoulder, because she’d seen the stormtrooper first, and was able to push Cassian out of the way. _Heroic_ Bodhi said. _Strategically sound_ Kay claimed, citing the angles of her injuries, versus what angles Cassian would’ve been hit at. Cassian had not said anything. He was too busy holding her, touching her. Jyn wasn’t complaining.

“Cassian?”

He was sitting up immediately, reaching for the nurse’s button with one hand and her own hand with the other. “Yes, Jyn? What is it?”

Jyn shook her head, trying to find the words. If she could discuss her dream with someone, it would be him. “I saw my mom,” she said, looking at her hand entwined with his, suddenly feeling ridiculous. But she wasn’t one to give up so easily. “We were on an island. It was beautiful.” She paused, shook her head. “Never mind, it’s stupid – “

“It’s not,” Cassian said, leaning forward. He licked his lips, eyes dropping to her bandages. He held her hand a little tighter. Quietly, “I’m glad you came back.”

She studied him, looking down at their hands.

She knew how hard those chairs were. Their seats were reversed during their recovery from Scarif. Then, it had been her sitting in that chair, lured away only by nothing short of an emergency. Bodhi even brought her food, having given up on trying to coax her to the mess.

She watched Cassian watching her. He kept shifting. She knew why.

Jyn pushed herself over, gritting her teeth as she did so. Cassian sat up, “What’s wrong?”

Jyn patted the space beside her. “Those chairs are horrible.”

Cassian smiled a little, shifting forward. “You’re sure?”

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared. It wouldn’t be the last.

Jyn just patted the space again. Cassian stood and sat carefully beside her, maneuvering his legs to the bed, curling around her. Jyn shifted, setting her good shoulder against his chest, and took a long, slow breath. She shut her eyes. _Go learn,_ her mother advised. _Go live,_ Lyra had told her. _Fall in love_ , her mother said.


End file.
